


they’re still playin’ our song

by sungyeowl



Series: lost in today and the past; lost in the future we had [5]
Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompt, also i really liked writing it for some reason, summer camp au i'm not sorry i am a sucker for these
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:49:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3394166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sungyeowl/pseuds/sungyeowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>“Took your time, I see,” Newt speaks up when Minho is close enough to hear him. He’s sitting on the jetty, swinging his legs carelessly, the soles of his sneakers brushing the surface of the water every now and then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they’re still playin’ our song

**Author's Note:**

> 20\. breaking the rules for Minewt, asked here : D

The ground is uneven, full of little hollows and covered by a maze of jutting out roots; the content of his backpack clinks mercilessly and Minho flinches at the sound, slowing his pace down.

Other than the faint sound of his footsteps and the occasional clinking of the bottles tucked on his back, the night is calm and quiet. There’s only the slightest hint of breeze, but not strong enough to move the leaves – the trees are looming, unmoving, dark shadows, and although Minho’s reluctant to admit it, there are cold shivers running down his spine as he makes his way through the forest.

The walk isn’t all too pleasant so a ting of relief washes over him when Minho steps down the hill, the trees and the shadows less dense there. The chill from the lake down below reaches his skin and Minho starts jogging lightly once again, impatient to get to the short wooden jetty by the shore.

“Took your time, I see,” Newt speaks up when Minho is close enough to hear him. He’s sitting on the jetty, swinging his legs carelessly, the soles of his sneakers brushing the surface of the water every now and then.

“If you’re so smart be the one to get the booze next time,” Minho snorts, knitting his brows together but smiling nonetheless as he sits down next to the blonde. It wasn’t an easy task – getting out unnoticed and jogging twenty minutes (one way) to the nearest store when it was still open, then getting back – also unnoticed – and waiting for everyone to fall asleep so he could sneak out.

They don’t speak when Minho takes his backpack off and unzips it quickly to get the bottles.

“So how was your day?” Newt asks, uncapping his and taking a healthy sip of his beer. “The kids were a bloody menace today, didn’t find a sec to see you.”

Minho chuckles at that after gulping down the half of his beer at once; Newt’s the slightly less lucky one this year, being assigned to a group of pre-schoolers. Minho was taking care of those last summer, he’s well aware of how tiring babysitting a group of seven-year-olds can be, a qualified camp counsellor or not.

“It was okay,” Minho replies, shrugging his shoulders. “Chuck was a big help. The kid knows how to calm ‘em down.”

“Good,” Newt muses distractedly, letting the tip of his shoe dip underwater, then pulling his legs up and crossing them. His shifts so he’s facing Minho more than the water now, and the man feels immediate heat flooding his cheeks.

“What?” he asks eventually, busying his hands with the bottle and looking anywhere but into Newt’s piercing eyes.

“Nothin’. Just hoped we would share the cabin this year, too,” Newt drawls slowly, not once taking his gaze off of Minho’s face. Suddenly Minho feels overly warm, despite the biting cold radiating off of the cooled-down water. He should have known Newt offering to sneak out in the night would lead to a conversation of this kind; and truth to be told, he dreaded it a little, too.

“Yeah. We’re not the ones makin’ the arrangements, tho,” Minho mumbles, trying to sound indifferent. He tried to brush it off when he learned that he would be rooming with the Alby guy this year, but Newt was obviously displeased about it, silently fuming for the first couple of days of the camp. He hoped they would be in the same cabin – and Minho did, too, even if he wasn’t so open about it.

“Too bad,” Newt scoots closer, his right knee now pressed firmly to Minho’s left thigh. The touch is familiar but unnerving at the same time, as it always is with the two of them. Biting down on his lower lip, Minho gulps loudly and chances a fleeting look at Newt. Who seems stubborn, engulfed by a weird aura of finality.

And that’s the scariest thing about it, probably – Newt setting his mind and wanting to talk it over. Minho dreaded it.

It’s the third time they’re – more or less – forced to spend one and a half month together, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a horde of kids half their age. And surprisingly, it was easier when they shared the cabin two times before. The lingering looks and prolonged, unnecessary touches were there, more often and more unbearable than this year, but at least there was none of this longing that settled in the pit of Minho’s stomach when he learned they wouldn’t be rooming together this year. And even if their activities during the day differed, they would always have the evenings and the nights for themselves, to talk and goof around as much as they wanted.

It was hard enough as it was, since they fought as much as they flirted; and the rest of the year between holidays, it was difficult, too, with Newt attending an university thirty miles away from Minho’s.

And now this. Newt wanting to talk about their ‘relationship’ to probably make things official after almost three years of pining and dancing around each other. And Minho would be okay with that – hell, more than okay, because having the ability to touch Newt and just  _be with him_  (and maybe even kiss him, for the first time) was all he wanted for the whole time since he discovered what he felt for the taller guy was something definitely bigger than friendship – but it was still somehow easier they way it’s now.

They are breaking enough rules as it is now, sneaking off and drinking together, and getting _actually_  together while they’re co-workers, in a sense, isn’t the greatest of ideas. And Minho’s not sure how he would cope later, with Newt being away for so long, able to meet him once a week if they were lucky.

“Newt,” he says after what seems to be ages of silence and the blonde perks up, sliding even closer; Minho’s feels his hand hovering over Minho’s shoulder, hesitating, where it settles after a few seconds. “Dammit.”

“Minho,” Newt huffs in return, a bit angry, it seems. “Just, don’t overthink it, okay?”

“But what if we’re, I don’t know, outed? And we won’t be coming back next year?” Minho’s head snaps over to look at Newt. They never spoke about it directly and Minho can’t be sure if Newt will even understand what he means – he does, though, apparently, because his eyes are still hard and he doesn’t flinch back from him. So they indeed are on the same page. “I need this money, you know that.”  _So I can go and see you during the academic year_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud not to sound even more pathetic.

“Do you seriously think they care if we’re dating?” Newt rolls his eyes but his hand moves down to Minho’s shoulder blade and back up again in a comforting gesture, sending a wave of almost brutal reassurance coursing through Minho’s body.

“Won’t they?”

“No, I don’t think so, mate. Unless you’re scared of commitment. Or you don’t fancy me and ya were giving off misleading signals the whole time. Making an idiot out of me in the process, may I add,” Newt’s tone is serious, but there’s an underlying amusement gracing his words; and that’s probably what gives Minho the courage to put his beer aside and move his hand over on top of Newt’s knee.

“You very well know that’s not the case, slinthead,” he murmurs guiltily, feeling a bit stupid for all of his earlier excuses.

“So stop fretting,” Newt advises quietly, leaning even closer and bending over so his bangs tickle Minho’s temple. “And-“

“And what?” he stops, as if he were weighing is words so Minho urges him, suppressing a shudder when Newt’s lips press against the corner of his mouth.

“And just don’t let me snog the living daylight out of you in front of the kids, and we’ll be good, Minho.”

“Can’t guarantee that,” Minho replies breathily when Newt guides his head even more to the side to kiss him full on the lips this time.


End file.
